Master At Arms
by thaipothetical
Summary: Master at Arms, Commander in Chief, Second in Line - mentor to the heir, soldier to the village, heartbreak to her chief. Astrid Hofferson is not a casualty of war, but a victim of missed opportunity, left to raise the daughter of the man she loved and the woman he chose over her.
1. Master At Arms

_AN: These five pieces were written after I received a tumblr prompt for Hiccup and Astrid in a Tenzin and Lin Beifong style relationship. I kinda jumped on it, and the following five pieces happened. They're a bit experimental and not quite chronological, but I hope you enjoy them regardless._

**Master at arms**

One loud, final scream rips through the village, and it has more effect on Hiccup than any of the sounds of the battle just ended.

"Go to her," Astrid says bluntly, pushing another Maurauder into the throng of prisoners and stepping over an arm she'd severed with her own axe.

"Are you sure? I mean, I should—"

"Go! I'll get Djaq if I need an official touch."

Another scream breaks through the cold winter silence, and she can hear the edge of his name in it.

"And she'll be angry, and you **do not** want that."

Hiccup opens his mouth to speak, then closes it and nods appreciatively, scampering back towards the chief's hall. Beside him, his caramel skinned daughter looks hesitantly from Astrid and the prisoners to her disappearing father.

"Should I—"

"Nope. Use that fancy sword of yours and let's shift these scum into the arena."

Djaq grins and unsheathed her (admittedly quite fancy) sword, snapping the flat into the back of one prisoner's knees.

"On heir's orders, there prisoners are to be kept until a peace can be arranged."

"And on general's orders, move it!"

The heaving mass of bodies shifts, and the soldiers surrounding them begin hurrying them along, leaving Astrid and Djaq to bring up the rear.

"Were you there when I was born?"

Astrid laughs, her voice clear in the snow capped morning. "Was I? I pulled you out of your mother myself."

Djaq starts slightly, almost embarrassed. "Why?"

Astrid understands her confusion. Why would a general, the master at arms for Berk, be attending to the chief's wife's birth?

"It was ten years ago - your parents hadn't been married long. And your mother had only been on the island a few months. People still didn't trust her - people tend not to trust things that are different, especially ones that _look_ different like Saffiyah. Anyway, Gothi was ill and any other midwife refused to take you, so… I did it."

Djaq looks back at her hall as another scream breaks the silence.

"Trust me Djaq, you _do not_ want to see what's going on in there."

Astrid shudders, leaving Djaq to wonder if her disgust at childbirth is the only reason the shield maiden refuses to marry and have children of her own. Emboldened by her first battle and the sword in her hand, she decides to broach a subject she's only heard in whispers before.

"Is it true you used to love my father?"

Astrid is silent the rest of the way to the arena - is still silent as they lock the gates and post guards. Djaq fears she wouldn't speak at all until they are walking back to her family hall to stand guard during the birth.

"Yes."

It was so quiet Djaq hardly heard it.

"That was a long time ago. Back when we were teenagers. Back before Hiccup ever met Saffiyah, and well before you were even possible."

"Did he love you?"

Astrid shrugs and sits against the side of the house as another scream pierces the wood. "Neither of us knew what love was. And I can't presume to know another's mind. But, I think… he cared for me, at the least. Still does, in some ways."

Teenagers - Djaq does the mental arithmetic, and comes up short.

"But… didn't they meet when they were seventeen?"

Astrid nods, weary, and for a moment, Djaq fears the answers are being cut off, then—

"Hiccup got carried away on a map making trip. Ended up in the far east. And… Djaq, you have to understand - I was… compatible, with Hiccup. But your mother _completed_ him. It took me a long time to understand that, but—"

A new sound - weaker, more frail, but no less piercing. Djaq stiffens at it, looks to Astrid.

"Yep."

The girl jumps to her feet and heads for the door, pausing on the handle.

"Do you want to—?"

Astrid shakes her head. "I've seen enough blood and gore already this morning. I'll meet it when it's clean and has a name - til then, I'll just guard it."

Djaq nods and rushes through the door, leaving Astrid to stand tall and heft her axe, protecting the family from any further attacks.

Maybe she'll drink that night. Raise a glass for the new child, a son perhaps, and a new life that Hiccup will intrinsically trust into her hands. Then keep drinking, and keep telling herself stories like she told _his_ children - _his _children but not _hers - _and pretend that she is perfectly happy with being alone.


	2. Commander in Chief

**Commander in Chief**

"We need to talk."

She's somewhere between drunk and hungover - the whole village is, what with the victorious scuffle with the Marauders and the birth of the chief's second child. Once the dragons return, they'll have to organise a trading party to send south for more skins of wine, since there isn't one left on the island. Usually, that's Saffiyah's job - keeping the village stocked and supplied for celebrations and entertainment, but since she'll be out of the picture for the next few months, the job will inevitably fall to Astrid.

She's still in yesterday's clothes, slumped across her own kitchen table, but she doesn't bother explaining herself, and he doesn't ask.

She nods and straightens, pressing her back against firm wood and praying it will support her, since nothing else will.

"Congratulations," she says formally, realising it's the first time they've spoken since she hurried him away to his screaming wife. "Let's hope he's not as useless as you."

Hiccup smile awkwardly, trying to take it as a friendly joke. He's known Astrid his whole life, considered her a friend for almost half of it, but he still can't tell if she's joking or just bitter. He doesn't bother thinking about it anymore - the words are so common and so harsh they've become part of who she is.

"Gods be good, he'll be safe too." He scratches at the grain of the wood of the table's surface, then pulls out a chair and sits opposite her.

"How did the Marauders know?"

She shrugs, trying to ignore the throbbing in her temples. "They got lucky."

"Attacking when the dragons were gone and Saffiyah was in labour? That can't be luck."

She stands (with some difficulty) and paces over to a map plastered to her wall. "At least half is luck. The Thing with the Meatheads, in late summer, was Saffiyah showing then?"

He thinks back, to the week he spent sitting in dimly lit halls and hoping against hope that this time, it would last.

"She might have been. We didn't say anything. We tend not to."

She nodded brusquely, not wanting to address the ten year gap between the chief's children, the memories of panicked screams and the young mother beating down her door in the dead of night.

"They might have pieced it together themselves. She wouldn't have been taking teas, but that shouldn't have been enough to tip them. Was she ill?"

He shrugs. "Maybe. I wouldn't have know - I hardly saw at all that week."

Astrid nods, tapping a careful finger at her the sharp tip of her chin, then stabbing into a point on the map. "The path between Berk and Nesting Island goes over the edge of Marauder territory. My guess is they saw the migration last week, recognised Stormfly or Hookfang, and decided to launch a surprise attack. They couldn't have known Saffiyah was due, but they might have guessed she was pregnant. The rest was just opportunity."

She looks over her shoulder, for confirmation of her theory. He nods, once, so she turns back to the map, ready to plot retribution, when she hears the thud of his elbows on the table and a ragged sob.

She doesn't move for a solid minute.

Finally, when she turns, his head is buried in his hands, his shoulders shaking, and she can hardly believe he's almost thirty when he looks so much like the boy she once loved.

Even once she's seen him, it takes a moment for her to approach, slowly, carefully. She wants to gather him up, to hide him and keep him from the responsibility that eats away at his soul and keeps him awake and drinking at her table long after his family has fallen asleep. She wants to kiss away the lines that have appeared along his brow, the bags beneath his eyes, the chapped lips he chews away with every tough decision.

Tentatively, she places a hand on his shoulder - steady, firm - and he looks up to her, tears clouding his fearful green eyes.

"How can I protect Berk when I can't even keep my own family safe?"

With that tiny reminder, it all falls away.

She pulls her hand back as if burnt, then dusts the front of her skirt to disguise the motion, striding across the kitchen and turning her back to him. She pours two clay mugs full of ale - because ale is a friends drink, and she always keeps enough for when he can't sleep, and it doesn't stain her lips and cloud her head and fill her tongue with the taste of being sixteen. She sets one mug down in front of him, and goes back to her distant chair, facing him from so far away.

"Well, it's a good thing you're not the one protecting Berk."

She heft the mug, holding it out from him to tap. After a moment, he does.

"To your son," she says bluntly, draining half her drink in one draught. He's slower, still sipping to keep tears and nerves at bay. "And all the sleep you'll lose over him."

He drinks at little more at her words, and she wonders if he's slept in the past three days.

"How's Saffiyah?"

It's always his cue to leave. Once he's vented his fears and faults and drunk half her monthly supplies in one night, once she's sick of hearing him talk and watching him from the opposite side of the table, she'll remind them both of what is waiting for him in his family hall. The first time she asked, he went to answer, before she cut him off saying she didn't care and that he needed to leave. Since then, he's always responded with a heavy sigh and the scrape of chair legs against the unsanded floor.

Sure enough, he stands, draining the last of his drink, but pauses as he pull on a heavy fur.

"She trust you, you know that? Sometimes I think she trusts you more than me."

She takes another drink, running it through her mouth as if tasting his words.

"Do you mean more than you trust me, or more than she trusts you?"

He doesn't answer, because he's not sure he can.

He's at the door when she stands with a call of "Wait!" He turns slowly, and prays that she won't be angry or hurt. As a young teen, he'd thought nothing could scare him more than an angry Astrid Hofferson. That was back before he'd broken her heart and ruined her future, and before he knew the fury and naked betrayal that could twist her mouth and darken her brow.

She's standing by the table, leaning on the back of the chair, mug held awkwardly between both hands.

"I want to train Djaq."

He frowns slightly. "Saffiyah already teaches her."

"Not books, idiot. Books won't do her any good the next time Marauders come knocking at our gates. She's got that fancy sword but she doesn't know how to use it."

He freezes at her words, hearing the same sentiment whispered against his neck in the forge more than ten years ago.

_You might have a fancy fire sword, but when you get back, I'm going to teach you to use it._

It had been half promise, half threat. But under the circumstances in which he returned, with a wife and an almost-born child, he had been lucky to have her look at him, let alone speak or train. On his twentieth birthday, he'd carried the tiny Djaq into the arena to watch his first training session with his father, five years too late. He was a quick learner, but Stoick was never a good teacher, or a good match to both learn from and spar with. After five years, his father had deemed him an adequate swordsman, with a strong willed heir and natural talent for leadership, and had finally retired to spend his days training with dragons instead of blades.

Hiccup has always wondered how much better a chief he'd be if things had been different, and she had been the one to teach him.

"I like her," Astrid says bluntly, taking a sip of her drink to cover the nervous silence. When still he doesn't speak, she continues for him. "We can't have another chief as useless as you."

He nods slowly, and decides to try for a smile. He manages one, and although it isn't returned, there's something less abrasive in Astrid's eyes as he opens the door.

"Come by the house some time," he says, almost as an afterthought. "Meet the boy. Distract Djaq for a while. Saffiyah could use some company."

She shakes her head, and he's almost worried, before her face splits into an almost sinister grin.

"Oh no. Tell Djaq her training starts at sunrise tomorrow in the arena, and there'll be no time for playing with mama and the babe when I'm through with her."


	3. Second In Command

**Second in Command**

It's Stoick who comes to the Hofferson's door - Stoick who bring the request that Astrid, and Astrid alone, visit Hiccup. Stoick who is shouted down her father and railed at about broken contracts and common decency.

It's Astrid who finally agrees to go

Her father insists on accompanying her, and she doesn't stop him - although as they march through the town square and are slowly joined by more and more of her father's friends, her mother's allies and the people who have taken up her cause as their own, she cringes. It doesn't seem decent to meet a man under the promise of solitude and instead bring a mob to his door.

Stoick walks beside her, careful to keep her pace and react to her, not her father. As the jeering and yelling gets louder from the crowd following them, she remains upright and silent.

"You don't have to come," he finally mutters under his breath, and she shakes her head.

"I'm no coward."

"Aye, and no one would call you that to refuse."

She stops, halting the crowd behind her and facing up at the chief. She wonders where he stands in all of this - she's seen how awkward he is with his son now, how he's so stiff and polite around his new daughter in law. She doesn't know if the sympathetic glances she catches being levelled her way are real or imagined.

"Would he refuse if I had done the same?"

Stoick inhales, as if about to speak, then turns on his heel and begins the march again.

The crowd is half the village by the time they reach the Haddock hall. She ignores the yells, the cries of _blood traitor, oath breaker _and_ heathen_, and pushes the door open, gesturing for Stoick to enter first. When her father goes to follow her, she wants to slam it in his face, but instead nudges the door a little farther to let him in.

The first thing to strike her about the hall is how dark it is, and how the smoke in the air feels different, richer. As her eyes adjust, she realises Toothless is standing by the door, an arms length away from her, and she almost reaches forward to scratch him behind the ears like she used to whenever she greeted the dragon - but instead, she crosses her arms and focusses on the humans in the room.

There's the sharp shriek of a chair being pushed back, and she only notices Hiccup when he moves.

"Astrid—"

Her father holds out a hand before he can approach her.

"You keep your distance," he spits at the heir, eyes flickering to the woman sitting by the low fire. She stares evenly back, then moves her gaze to Astrid.

_Saffiyah._

Astrid hasn't seen her in almost six weeks - since she landed with Hiccup and turned all their lives on their heads. She's grown - the child within her almost born - but her frame is still light and delicate, her swollen abdomen and breasts the only symptom of her pregnancy. In the dark, she's almost harder to spot than Toothless.

Her brown eyes bore into Astrid, and the blonde woman feels a flicker of uncertainty passing through her.

"You wanted to see me," she finally says in a blunt, humourless tone, turning to Hiccup. He's taller - he must have grown _again_ over the past month or so, although since his shoulders finally started to broaden he was actually starting to look like a man instead of a stretched youth. His birthday must have passed, she realises, although no mention or celebration of it was made in the village.

He steps forward slightly, still awkward on his mismatched feet, and the slight stumble makes her want to shoot forward and catch him.

Her mind sternly reminds her heart of the woman on the other side of the room - his _wife,_ his _pregnant _wife - and the urge to help him withers.

"I, um - Astrid, I understand that the past few months must have been… difficult—"

"_Difficult?!"_ Her father explodes, but she holds out a stiff, calming hand to stop him. He shrinks away, more scared of his daughter's silence than her rage. She nods once to Hiccup, giving him permission to continue.

"And, of course, they haven't exactly been easy for us—"

_Us._

"But, um, look Astrid, I'm—"

"Spit it out."

He starts at her caustic tone, and she realises these are the first words she's said to him since she turned away and left his pathetic explanations for the silence of solitude. A surge of hot pride bursts through her - she was never too fond of the way he umm'd and ahh'd, but now she _hates_ it.

He straightens, assuming an almost chiefly stance, and looks her in the eye as her speaks.

"My father and I are attending a Thing in Isle Cracker territory next week. There, I'm expected to make my vows as heir. I would like to name you my second in command."

She hardly has time to think the words over before her father is yelling.

"How _dare_ you! How _dare_ you dishonour my daughter and offer her some pathetic consolation prize for playing second fiddle to a foreign _whore!_ How could you—"

"My offer," Hiccup responds in a calm, raised voice that she knows he must have practised, "is related to Astrid's strength as a military and tactical advisor. She has always been my second in command in the dragon academy, and in battle, and this is the perfect opportunity to legitimise our relationship."

"Legitimise your relationship - when you tore up her contract and -"

Her father reaches for Hiccup, fully intending to rip him to pieces, when Stoick intervenes, holding him back and wrenching him towards the door.

There's a tense, final moment as both men leave the room, and the three youths are left facing one another.

Then Astrid turns her back, and walks away.

It's the screaming that wakes her, just before the sun usually does, almost a week later. It's sharp and harsh and piercing, and she's already halfway out of her house before the direction of the sound hits her.

It's coming from the Haddock hall.

There's a minute - a horrible, terrible minute - of indecision, standing frozen on the stairs, listening to the woman he chose over her screaming and crying in pain.

Then she hefts her axe over her shoulder, and leaves through the back door to train in the woods.

When she returns almost two hours later, the screaming still rings through the village, but it's almost as if their people have become used to it - going about their daily routines, without care for the intermittent shrieks from the chief's home. It's one of the most bizarre things she's ever done, as she sits down for breakfast with her mother and father, trying to hold a conversation about lambing season while the occasional cry breaks through.

It's midmorning before she decides she's had enough.

The house is empty - Hiccup and Stoick having left almost two days before for the Thing, taking their dragons with them. Outside, in the barn, she knows she will find the strange, purplish dragon that Saffiyah arrived on, but for now, she doesn't care.

The door is locked so she breaks it down with her axe, and freezes at the sight of Saffiyah, sprawled on her front on the floor, surrounded by a dark pool of blood and water.

It's the memories that come flooding back to her, memories that she so wants to be rid of, that stop her leaving the door half hanging on its hinges, and instead make her creep in.

Saffiyah whimpers slightly when she gets too close, but she ignores it, inspecting the dampness and the thick trail it makes across the floor - the darker woman must have dragged herself from where she collapsed when her waters first broke almost to the door, but lost energy halfway. On close inspection, she could see the palms of Saffiyah's hands bleeding.

"Astrid."

Her name sound foreign, exotic on Saffiyah's tongue, but the tone of hope and fear is instantly recognisable.

"How long?" Astrid asks, pointing at the blood and hoping she understands enough of the common tongue to communicate.

"Hours," Saffiyah moans, before clenching her jaw as another wave of pain hits. "The… the water broke before sunrise, when I was stocking the fire, and—AHHH!"

Astrid grimaces at the scream, while the practical part of her mind notes how close the contractions are.

"And you tried to—?"

"Tried - uh - tried to get help. But I was not strong enough. Then tried to scream for it, and…."

She looks up at Astrid, dark brown eyes beseeching.

"Please. Do not kill me."

There's something calm and dignified about the request, a quite acceptance that it is Astrid who holds the power in this situation, and that she trusts that Astrid is a good enough person not to do what is logical. She could hide it, so easily - tell Hiccup the woman had died in childbirth, taking the babe with her. She could hate him a few more years, trying to deny the fact that her heart's first reaction to his name was still to quicken. They could be married by the time she was twenty five.

But Astrid Hofferson was never a fool, and was not about to become one.

Saffiyah cries out in pain as the strong, sturdy hands grasp her shoulders and rotate her onto her back, before disappearing over to the log pile and finding the strongest, largest pieces to build a support for her back. She watches as Astrid moves around the kitchen, finding cloths and bowls as if she were part of the household, and slowly piecing together something close to a medical kit. It's only when Astrid kneels beside her and reaches for her skirt that Saffiyah recoils, then remembers how ridiculous that is in this situation, and lifts the skirt herself. Astrid pauses slightly as she looks down, then sets to work cleaning her hands.

"I'll bet," she says bluntly as she positions Saffiyah's legs, "you wish you just sucked his cock now."

There's a bitterness to the words that belies the care she's taking, and although Saffiyah has no way of knowing it, this will define the next ten years they spend as unlikely allies.

She swears as another contraction hits - a full hearted curse in her native tongue - and a thin smile glances across Astrid's face.

"Hurts?"

She nods, unable to speak.

"Mine felt like I was ripping in two."

The words paralyse Saffiyah, worse than any of the birthing pain.

Astrid avoids eye contact, focussing instead on checking for the child's head. Her blue eyes are clear, glassy almost, and Saffiyah suddenly understands why of all the women in the village, the one who hated her most was the one to save her.

"Boy or girl?"

It's the only question she can think of which won't hurt - because how, why, who and when are all tied up in the man who brought her to this island and abandoned his warrior woman for her.

Astrid adjusts her braid to sit against her back.

"Boy."

She runs her sleeve against her mouth, just as another wave of pain hits and Saffiyah cries out again, but the tiny sob is still audible.

"He was smaller. Too small. Barely five months."

Astrid busies her hands, her eyes, her everything, trying to stop the words slipping from her mouth and finding herself powerless.

"He took half a dozen breaths, and then the seventh was his last."

Saffiyah thinks of the fury in Astrid's eyes at Hiccup's arrival, the impassioned anger, the way the whole village took her side without even bothering to speak to the heir's new bride.

Then another memory - a soft, pleasant one, like grass against her skin. The summer months spend hiding from heat in the libraries. The man who met her there. Always mentioning his home, his people, their strange way of life. A world where a woman could carry an axe and wear armour and not be treated any different. It was this woman that he had wept for, when he realised that she loved him, because he loved her too while this _Astrid_ waited for him. Day after day, he waited for word from her.

Day after day, it didn't come.

"Why didn't you tell him?"

Astrid wipes her face on her sleeve again, but the sob isn't muffled at all this time.

"I… it was going to be a surprise. He couldn't have guessed, couldn't have known. He said six months, so I thought, when he came back…. Then once it was over, how could I? I thought he'd be back soon and I could tell him in person, but then six months became seven, then eight, then twelve."

Twelve. Five. Seven.

She'd been seven months wed and seven months pregnant when they returned to Berk.

"And how was I supposed to tell him?" Astrid spits angrily, finally turning her gaze up to Saffiyah. "How could I tell a married man that I bore his child, in secret, and held it as it died, then had Stormfly set its blankets ablaze? While he brings another woman into his home, into his _bed_ after I was promised _everything."_

Saffiyah is about to answer when a shudder passes through her body, and she knows it's time.

Astrid cuts the cord herself with the blade of her axe, and holds the little girl a moment longer than she should.

Hiccup returns to Berk within two hours of the Terror arriving with a message telling him his daughter was born that morning.

She gives them space. She needs it herself. She spends hours in the woods, running and searching and cutting through thick blackberry brambles until she finds the flat, round stone she set a pile of bloodied blankets atop for her dragon to turn to ash. She sits there through the night and most of the next morning, strong and sturdy, and to any passerby it was merely Astrid Hofferson taking a strictly regimented break from her training. They wouldn't come close enough to see the tears leaking down her cheeks, the quiet and slow resignation of her face, the soft peace that slowly took over her. When she finally stands, it's on steady legs.

The crying coming from the Haddock hall is so different to the screams from less than a day before.

She knocks, politely, ignoring the fact that the door still sits on only half its hinges after her axe attack.

"Hiccup?"

She hears something upstairs being dropped and smashing. A second later, mismatched feet appear on the stairs, and Hiccup's exhausted, disbelieving face appears in the gap in the door.

"Astrid?"

He's hugging her before she can stop him - as soon as she can stop him, she does.

"So you didn't manage to kill her in the night?"

She strides past him, suddenly confident in a house she's feared most of her life, leading him up the stairs towards where the gurgling cries are loudest. He doesn't have time to think, to question, before she's standing at the foot of _their_ bed.

"Still alive?"

Saffiyah looks up from where she lies with the baby rested against her torso, the little girl's head pressed into her mother's shoulder. She nods warily at Astrid.

"Both of us, somehow."

Hiccup is only just up the stairs when Astrid reaches out to press a hand gently against the child's dark hair - her dark skin a perfect mix between Saffiyah's earthy brown and Hiccup's pasty pale. She's withdrawing the hand before Hiccup can even comment, and he's too caught up in the almost civil display between his wife and ex-betrothed to catch the heavy, meaningful look between the two of them.

_I will keep this secret for you._

Astrid spins on her heel, facing up with Hiccup and cursing the fact that all his growth spurts have stolen her ability to hold his eyes.

"I'll do it."

He's confused, so she punches him.

"You'll punch me?"

"I'll be your second in command."

He's about to laugh with relief when she cuts him off.

"On one condition."

He nods warily, willing to accept almost any terms - any, except those which she truly wants.

She takes a moment to look back at Saffiyah and the gurgling child, before turning her attention to her Chief.

"I want the succession. If you get yourself killed before that boy-faced girl of yours comes of age, the tribe passes to me."

He doesn't know why she wants this - power, control, blackmail - but he agrees, stumbling out words of thanks and gratitude at not only her decision but her help in the birth.

Before he's choked out one full sentence, she's pushed past him and gone on her way, leaving him to his wife and baby daughter.


	4. Next In Line

**Next In Line**

"You should marry Tuffnut Thorston."

"Sorry - what?!"

They're resting on the side of a fallen tree, taking a much deserved break in turning the once-great oak into firewood, when Djaq decides to bring up her matchmaking schemes. Again.

"No, it'd be good," she insists, taking another sip from her waterskin and swallowing as she mulls over the reasons. "He's the eldest son of the family, and Thorston cloth is the best in the region - you'd be marrying into money _and _status. And you like Ruffnut, so you two would be sisters. _And_ you're the same age, so it wouldn't be weird like that."

Astrid drops her axe to rest against the tree trunk and raises a skeptical eyebrow at the chief's daughter.

"And what would I do about the fact that he's an idiot?"

Djaq shrugs. "He likes getting hit, and you like hitting people. Seems like a good match to me."

Astrid laughs - actually laughs, not the sly snicker she usually does - and sits back on the trunk.

"I thought you'd stop doing this when Snoutlout was married."

Djaq is unapologetic. "You would have had all the status of a chief's wife, and your children would have been next in line after me. Plus you could have been my aunt, or second aunt, or whatever that technically is. Then he had to go and marry Hildegard."

"Who he was betrothed to. For five years."

Djaq pouts and stands - it hardly makes a difference to her height, standing or sitting, still almost a foot shorter than her mentor.

"She's so much younger than him. She's only a few years older than me!"

"Why, are you scared we're going to marry you off too?"

Djaq looks at her shoes, and Astrid instantly backs off.

"Because I'm not wasting two years of training to pass you off as a bride so soon. No, you'll be an ancient spinster like me, running the village from the Chief's chair and answering to no one."

Djaq smiles thinly, and Astrid knows that isn't it.

"How's Raffan?"

The girl shrugs, picking up her axe and lining the blade up with a branch. "He's starting to speak properly. His walking isn't good though."

She brings her axe down, and Astrid can't help the surge of pride that comes when the branch splinters and cracks neatly in two. Six months ago, when she'd first handed the skinny girl an axe, she had hardly been able to lift it.

"They're fighting again."

The words are soft, almost as if she doesn't intend for them to be heard.

"About what?"

Djaq looks up at her mentor, dark brown eyes piercing blue.

"Me."

Astrid's eyes widen, and she stands in alarm. "What about you?"

"My training. Mother thinks it's too much, says I should be reading more, says she never sees me, but dad says he trusts you, and he needs you so often I'm hardly being trained enough."

Astrid nods, mulling it over in her head. It's true that she insists on the heir rising before dawn, and not leaving her tasks until after dark, but Astrid herself is dragged from teaching so often for councils and ceremonies that she worries about how the girl is still so small, and can only wield two weapons well.

"What do you think?"

Djaq tips a cut log onto its side and brings her axe down into it, splitting it in two before answering.

"Even when I am home, Mother doesn't have time for me. And apart from… an _obligation_, once a week check in, I hardly see father either. And whenever we eat together they're too worried about getting Raffan to finish his plate to even ask how I am, or notice that I've grown, or realise how much they ignore me."

She looks up at Astrid, and the older woman feels the stone heart in her chest beginning to crack, just as it had the first time Djaq had appeared at her door almost a year ago, eye welling with tears at the though of her parent's argument.

"Thank the gods I have you."

Astrid doesn't know what to do when the girl falls forward into her arms, clutching at her waist, holding her tight and fighting back tears. So she does what feels right - wrapping herself around Djaq, drawing her in and resting her chin on the heir's dark head.

They stand there for longer than is acceptable - longer than Astrid would ever admit to her battle brothers and war councillors, longer than Djaq can even measure. When Astrid finally breaks the embrace with a soft kiss to Djaq's hair, the shoulder of her shirt is wet, and she still has no answers, so instead she asks more questions

"Why do you want me to get married Djaq?"

Djaq wipes her face on her sleeve - a habit that brings a sting to Astrid's chest with its familiarity - and shrugs before speaking in a cracked voice.

"I want _someone_ to be happy."

Astrid knows there's more, so she stays silent and lets her student speak.

"What if they keep fighting? What if it ends, and he decides he wants you back? Then she'll be left alone, and…. I want you to be happy Astrid. But I want my mother happy too, and my father, and the only way I can see it is if you're happy first."

Astrid bites back her heart, and wraps an arm around Djaq's shoulders.

"I _am_ happy, Djaq."

It hurts to lie to the one person who trusts her entirely, to the person who will open her soul and bare her troubles to her, when she won't do the same in return.

When Djaq looks up at her, dark eyes furrowed, it hurts even more to know she can see right through the lie anyway.


	5. Missing In Action

**Missing In Action**

"You can't leave."

It's too late. She's already halfway gone - Stormfly laden with saddlebags, axe sharpened for the journey, a heavy travelling cloak over her shoulders. She was planning to steal away once the ceremony had slipped fully into celebration - to disappear like a whisper in a crowded room.

But, of course, just as she was passing from one congratulation to the next, Djaq had noticed the blonde braid retreating through the main doors, and had followed.

"You can't leave me now."

Astrid turns to face the heir - the annoited, appointed heir, still with the marks of ritual and ceremony on her skin - and smiles slightly.

"I have to leave Djaq. If I don't go now, I never will."

She takes a moment of silence to admire the young woman before her. Her hair has grown out slightly, from the harsh stubble she kept it at for so many years to loose, soft tufts, the same length as her father's. She finally hit the growth spurt she'd waited her life for a fourteen, and Astrid is unreasonably proud of the fact that training has filled out her frame, giving her strong shoulders and lean muscle in addition to the soft curves of her mother. Saffiyah had travelled for two weeks to find the plants to crush into a fine paste and pattern Djaq's skin for her coronation, and when combined with the ash and runes that Gothi's smeared on her skin, she is the perfect mix of her parents. At sixteen, she's both beautiful and inspiring, a figure to be admired and feared.

Her soft brown eyes are just as imploring as they've always been.

"I need you Astrid."

She has to turn away and fiddle with the ropes of Stormfly's saddle, or the words will break her.

"Your father needed me. And I stayed. The village needed me, so I stayed. You needed me, so I stayed far longer than I should have. But now, you're of age and I'm just an old soldier filling your place."

Djaq darts forward, grabbing her by the shoulders, and Astrid wonders if her absence has been noted by the half drunk crowd.

"You're our master at arms, even if you're not next in line."

It takes all her strength to reach up and gently remove Djaq's hands.

"That's an heir's job," she says, dusting off her cloak and standing tall. "And I don't think the world has seen an heir quite the likes of you yet Djaq."

She wants to say so much more - how proud she is, how this is her last chance at life, how no matter how ancient she seems to the young heir, she's still young. She still has time.

But all she can think as the light from the torches catches Djaq's skin is how much she looks like Saffiyah, the day she first arrived on Berk and ripped Astrid's life apart.

"Astrid. Please."

She smiles, because it's the only way she knows to stave off the tears, and places a firm hand on Djaq's shoulder. The words don't come easily at first, but once they do, they come thick and fast.

"I'm so proud of you Djaq. You know that, don't you? For all the… horrific things I've wished on you, and your mother, before you even came into this world… I hope I've repented. And I hope you can remember me well. I want… I want you to remember what I've taught you, and use it, and become the strongest chief you could ever be because of it. And…"

Djaq cuts her off with a fast hug, closing her arms around Astrid's torso like a vice and squeezing the air from her lungs.

"I'm sorry," she sobs, her flat chin digging into Astrid's collarbone. "I'm sorry that my existence meant your misery. I'm sorry that the circumstances of my birth hurt you. And I am so, so grateful for what you have done for me, in spite of everything."

She's stolen her father's way with words, and can say in ten what takes most people a lifetime.

Every early morning, every tough day, the training and fighting and toughening up - it all comes back to Astrid in a flood. Six years of every day, six years of finally being sober, of having _something_ to make her want to wake in the morning. Hoping that maybe, the next generation could be better.

The first time Djaq beat down her door with worry, at her parent's bickering, her brother's illness, the blood between her legs. The days of blood, sweat and tears - of shared laughter, despite all odds. The time Astrid had to wash her face and rub her back as she threw up in Athens after her first night of heavy drinking.

Knowing that she had every right to hate this girl, and loving her in spite of everything.

"I cut your cord, you know that? Sixteen years today."

She breaks the embrace and looks the young woman evenly in the eyes.

"Can I ask you to do the same for me?"

Djaq's still wearing her sword - the same fancy sword she carried at ten - and when Astrid nods to it, she draws it, uncertain of what is being asked and knowing there is no way she can refuse.

Astrid draws her braid over one shoulder, and gestures for her to make the cut.

The braid falls away in one piece, still twisted together at one end as it unravels rapidly at the other, loose pieces of gold glittering as they fall to the ground. Djaq watches as it slowly comes apart in her hand, before Astrid takes her by the wrist and guides it to the ground.

It's a ritual Stormfly knows too well, and once Astrid has pulled Djaq away, she leaves a scorch mark on the steps of the hall, an endless reminder that Astrid Hofferson existed, and that she mattered, even if her name would not live on in the way she once thought it would.

Tiny, acrid ashes and pieces of smoke fill the air, the last reminder of what she once was, leaving only a blank slate for what she will become.

She leans in to place a gentle kiss on Djaq's forehead, feeling the dusty charcoal against her lips, and says the words she's thought for almost ten years.

"You were not the child I dreamed of, but you were the daughter I had."

Her voice is ragged when she next speaks, and Djaq realises it's the first time she's heard Astrid cry.

"I only wish my son could have known you. Of all I could change, of all the Hel it would have been - I wish he could have lived to know you."

It's a secret she's kept too long, and it breaks Djaq's heart to finally understand.

"I have to go."

This time, she doesn't try to stop her.


End file.
